


finery and so on

by Feather (lalaietha)



Category: Belgariad/Malloreon Series - David & Leigh Eddings
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/pseuds/Feather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the subject of jewels and gold, the Empress of boundless Mallorea and Queen of Angarak remained absolutely adamant: she didn't want them, she didn't like them, they were heavy, dead and gaudy, and she would continue to wear flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	finery and so on

On the subject of jewels and gold, the Empress of boundless Mallorea and Queen of Angarak remained absolutely adamant: she didn't want them, she didn't like them, they were heavy, dead and gaudy, and she would continue to wear flowers.

(The imminent collapse of the Mallorean economy due to the way the ladies of the court imitated her was averted in two ways: for one, every lady once covered in jewels now absolutely demanded the rarest flowers to adorn herself with, and many jewellers found new careers as florists; and for another, some lucky bastard had a clever daughter who noted that you could make flowers _out of jewels_. In such small ways is the world saved.)

She also remained adamant on the subject of vast banquets and expensive liquors, in that she did not have a taste for either. Light, refreshing, simple food was all she desired, and intoxication was distasteful to her.

(Her husband, the Emperor of boundless Mallorea and Over-King of Angarak, had been heard to remark that at least he'd have rather fewer greasy, overindulged courtiers if she hewed to that path, and besides, his physician approved of his queen's diet and encouraged him to emulate her in actually eating occasionally.)

Empress Cyradis even remained firm on the design of her clothing, which remained simple - although, as more than one genially bitter older lady of the court pointed out, when you happen to be young, slender and preternaturally gorgeous, you could wear a _sack_ and make it look wonderful. And although simple, the Empress' clothing was certainly not actually cut like a sack. Indeed, it suited her extremely well and served the purpose of not making her look like an overwrought Bird of Paradise beside her husband in his customary white linen robe.

(This white linen robe was generally taken to be a sign of the Emperor's austerity and clarity of mind. But this is only because many people are ignorant of the sheer luxury of _truly_ fine linen, and also of the power of contrast and the ways in which only the very high indeed can afford to embrace the seemingly low.)

In only one area had Cyradis, who had been the Seeress of Kell, made some surrender to decadence, and that was in what her gowns were made of.

 

Zakath had made his case through trickery. He did that quite often, although he preferred the word _deception_ to _trickery_. The former, he said, had a sense of elegance and grace, where the latter suggested a wicked and badly behaved little boy getting away with a prank.

Yes, Cyradis had replied levelly, when he'd said it to her. That was why she'd used the latter in the first place.

But trick or not, his reasoning had been sound: this was Mallorea, even more than anything else, carpets and silk was what they were famous for, and so as a symbol it only befitted the Empress to wear Mallorean silk (and walk upon Mallorean carpets). And that this shouldn't be a terrible hardship, as the ladies of the court imitated the Empress and not the other way around, so she could choose her own manner of wearing said Mallorean silk to impress upon the court.

Cyradis had sighed and consented.

 

To say that the Book of the Heavens was closed to her now was an oversimplification. All that had been taken from her had been the near-unbearable weight of her people's soul, the spirit and intelligence of every learned Dal who had ever lived and, in some ways, ever would. That bond was not _broken_ , as such. Such a thing couldn't break. But it had . . .diffused, both for her and for the rest of her people, and so she no longer carried everything they had ever been or would be. It meant there were no skills in her head but her own, no knowledge but what she remembered, no vision except that of her own heart, and that was indeed far less than had flooded her before.

However, just because it isn't a forest fire doesn't mean that a lantern carries no flame.

She had always known this path might be open to her. But in a life holding the weight of the universe there had been no time waste on preparing herself for the chance that she might choose the way that lead, as it had, to being an empress. Because of that, trying to maintain now the balance of what the world - or at least the Empire - needed of her, and how much change she could encompass without giving into the urge to scream and (love aside, duty aside, _vision_ aside) running back to Kell as fast as she could was . . .difficult.

She didn't. Cyradis knew where that would end. Walking amongst the powers of the world, one took up duties greater than oneself and she was used to this. To abandon Zakath now, even putting aside her own remorse, would damage the Empire and all the people who dwelt within and had suffered so much these past years already. She wouldn't do it.

But the day she looked at herself in the mirror in jewels and gold and sick from unnecessary feasting, wrapped all up in the show of power that, yet, was so much less than she had once held - that day, she would no longer be Cyradis, and that was a thought she couldn't stand.

In the end, though, to the silk she had sighed and consented. And had been too tired to bother trying to guess what lay behind Zakath's private, triumphant smile when he sent for all the servants who would perform the illusion of creating elegance out of nothing.

She allowed herself to be measured and then said, very firmly, "I am going to bathe," and hid in her baths, sending away even Hela, her Dalasian handmaid. She hid in the baths and breathed in the scent of roses and jasmines and the sovereign-specific (bless Belgarion for that, at the least) until her fingers and toes wrinkled and the water was at best the same temperature as the air.

 

Cyradis felt tired enough and unset enough in herself that when Zakath did come to her in her bathing-room and still had a ghost of that smile about him, she said, quite flat, "If thou art here to make fun of me, I shall throw water at thee until I am left alone again."

Zakath suppressed the smile as it tried to grow wider, and shook his head, sitting beside the tub. "Sometimes, Cyradis," he told her, "you are allowed to unburden yourself to _me_ , as well as the other way round." He caught her hand, ignoring the water-shrivelled tips of her fingers in order to kiss her knuckles. "Now that you've firmly caught me and cannot possibly scare me away by the revelation that you _too_ are human." And his eyes were far too knowing, and she was reminded again that in years in the world, he had been here nearly twice as long as she.

Cyradis felt her lips purse in aggravation, but she caught herself and let it go with a sigh. And found Angarak-cadences instead of Dalasian ones while she leant her cheek against their joined hands. "Do you know how long I was a seeress?" she asked him.

"I asked Beldin, actually," he admitted. "I am not the slightest bit convinced I understood _any_ of his answer."

Cyradis felt her mouth quirk. "Let us then say _more than all my life_ , then," she suggested. "I have no practice at being anything else, Zakath. Just now, I feel this most keenly."

Zakath moved his thumb over her fingers, and Cyradis felt it brush the side of her face. "Fortunately," he said, "I've been an emperor for an obnoxiously long time, and I think I may be able to help you there." When her mouth flattened and she splashed water at him with her free hand, he smiled. "I do not mock thee, seeress."

Cyradis gave him a deeply sceptical look. Or hoped she did. It was still a little strange, to see the expressions of the human face with her eyes, rather than knowing them through the over-soul. She was by no means always certain that what displayed upon her face was what she wished to be seen there.

"I don't," he insisted. "Much of it," he continued, "is wisdom and sense. The rest is ceremony. Wisdom, you have aplenty." His face, though Cyradis searched it for any hint of laughter, stayed solemn. "Ceremony is easy enough to learn. And it has its advantages."

Cyradis didn't think her expression changed; from the look on Zakath's face, it hadn't. He squeezed her hand gently and said, "Let me show you."

Reluctantly, she let him help her out of the bath.

She had some sense that there were a few who looked askance at the intimacy she and Zakath already had, the full formal wedding not yet passed - but Zakath dismissed them as prudes, they seemed a small number, and so far as Dalasia was concerned marriage was the agreement of two persons. That had long ago passed, and this remained one of the corners she would keep resolutely Dal. If she had been required to play the coy and keep herself apart, she might well have fled back home already.

Hela came and brought Cyradis a robe. Zakath left, briefly, while Hela and Kadine, one of her Angarak maids, combed through Cyradis' hair and braided it up in a simple pattern (simple that is, and Cyradis thought this wryly, for an empress). They traded the dampened robe for another, a little more formal, bound at the waist by a broad sash in a complicated knot. Cyradis looked at herself in the large oval mirror, still not entirely used to seeing her own face, and then stood up and went to the sitting room of the Empress' Quarters.

It slightly appalled her how much sheer labour a ruler could command at whim, outside of her own people. It had been only a few hours, and yet the work of she had no doubt many, many hands already had gowns in fine silk draped over a wooden stand, in red and pale blue and bright living green.

Zakath sat on the low couch with one of his ubiquitous kittens crawling up to his shoulder and taking an interest in his ear before he took the little thing down and held it in one hand. "Stop that," he said to the kitten when it growled at him and then, seeing Cyradis' raised eyebrow, told her, "Only the simplest of them, Cyradis. For ordinary wear. They do know how to do these things."

The kitten bit him, hard, and he bit off an oath. Cyradis bit the inside of her mouth not to laugh, and stepped over to pick the kitten up off the couch where it - she, Cyradis knew now as she picked the little thing up - where she had fallen when Zakath's hand had jerked.

"No, little sister," she murmured to the kitten, holding her up near her own face. "Thou shouldst not do so, what would thy mother think of thee?"

The kitten looked and felt abashed, and when Cyradis put her back down on Zakath's outstretched hand, the little thing groomed his thumb in apology.

It was petty, she knew, but in Zakath's slight frown she felt a certain restoration of footing. Speaking so that creatures other than human could understand was a child's trick for a Dalasian, maybe, but it was one he could not do.

He was the Emperor of boundless Mallorea, however, and set the discomfit aside almost at once, putting the little creature down gently on the couch and getting to his feet. "I wonder," he said, in her cadences instead of his, "if my lady would allow her poor admirer to assist her, though he be more clumsy than her handmaidens?"

He did have mischief hiding in his face, glinting in the eye, as they said. She hadn't understood that for a very long time, and even now she didn't understand why the words made sense. But they did, and she saw it, but she couldn't think why. She frowned at him, but his innocent, earnest and entirely false gaze was no more forthcoming than a mirror might have been, and in the end she nodded and said to Hela, "Wilt thou - ?"

"Of course, Holy Cyradis," Hela said, because some habits die hard, particularly if you do not try very hard to kill them. There lurked the faintest hint of amusement in her eye, as well; she was older in years on the earth than Cyradis, and sometimes Cyradis suspected it showed. She didn't acknowledge the amusement and the maids did their obeisance and took themselves out.

"You don't really need to squint at me so suspiciously," Zakath said, all innocence, and Cyradis pressed her lips together.

"Thou needst not play tricks on me," she replied, and he smiled.

"I'm not," he insisted and at her raised brow added, "Trust me."

"You sound," she said, deliberately in Angarak fashion, "like Kheldar."

It was a rather base accusation, and she admited to herself (and to him, simply through the act of being so) that she was peevish. That she felt, truth told, more childish and alone than she had since she left Toth's body behind at the high place. She did not like it, nor what it did to her temper and encouraged in her actions.

So she sighed and undid the wide sash of the robe, letting it slide off her shoulders and putting it over the back of one of the carved chairs.

Zakath took up one of the gowns, the one in pale blue, and Cyradis considered it. Mal Zeth was warm, this summer, and she felt perfectly comfortable in her bare skin. More comfortable, she was sure, than in the finery that would make her feel as if she wore gaudy feathers.

Instead, she sighed again and said, "Very well, Zakath. If I must."

He caught her face in both hands, gown draped over his arm, and kissed the place between her brows. "Don't you trust me, Holy Seeress?" he asked, and she almost told him to stop it.

Almost said, _I trust thee to be thyself, Zakath_. But that wasn't fair, for the changes she had forced him - had had no choice but to force him - to accept over such a short time. She knew better than most how brutal Necessity might be.

Instead she simply accepted the kiss and then stepped back, raising her arms so that he could lift the gown over her head and help her in.

Even that first touch over her arms and her neck was sudden and shivery bright in her mind, startling her. Her arms slid through the sleeveless gown, her head finding the neck and the silk pulling threads of her hair askew. She didn't notice that. Couldn't notice it.

Had very little attention but for the touch of the silk on her bare skin as the gown settled onto her.

It was a feather-light touch at her collar-bone, over the point where front and back came together in a bare kiss so that her shoulders might hold the silk on her body. It was gentle caress over her breasts and her hips, where the curves of her body met the lines of the dress, over her thighs where it finished its fall, flaring out to touch the ground by her feet. And she knew that the moment she took a step, the silk would begin another flickering dance around her calves and her ankles; the moment she twisted her body it would wrap itself around belly and back and move over breasts and hips again.

Cyradis found herself wide eyed and blinking, and said, "Oh."

Zakath looked entirely too pleased with himself, but it was a gentle pleasure, so Cyradis didn't rally herself to counter it. He caught her hand and kissed one finger. "I thought so," he said smugly. "Linen, wool and cotton are all very well, Cyradis, but silk has far more charms than merely being expensive and difficult to find."

Cyradis could feel the slight flush at her cheeks. The words _it must be that even thou art correct once or twice in thy days,_ rose to her lips, but didn't get anywhere, because then Zakath slid his hand down silk to rest at her waist, making her shiver as he caught her mouth in a kiss. Where his hands pressed silk to skin there came, at the end, a kind of subtle scrape that hid within the silk's smoothness and in the end made Cyradis gasp.

When Zakath broke the kiss he didn't let her go, but rested his forehead against hers and said, "Did you have anything planned for the next few hours?" in a voice of entirely feigned unconcern. Cyradis caught herself smiling.

"Thou," she said, mock-sternly, "didst arrange thy meeting with - " but Zakath cut her off with another kiss. Then he pressed his lips to the side of her mouth and slid his hands from her waist to her lower back, silk folding and catching against her skin and making her forget who it was he was supposed to be meeting.

"I'm the Emperor," he said, in a very definite kind of breathless whisper. "They can wait."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [finery and so on [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/380857) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




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